


Books are books

by lwise2019



Series: Mikkel's Story [7]
Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 05:14:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21350806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lwise2019/pseuds/lwise2019
Summary: Mikkel, Sigrun, and Tuuri consider the books from site number 24.
Series: Mikkel's Story [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536739
Kudos: 14





	Books are books

It was evening in the tank and all was well. The decontamination section had been thoroughly scrubbed (mostly by Mikkel); the explorers' outer clothes had been cleaned (mostly by Mikkel) and hung up to dry; Mikkel had tried yet again to use the radio and had gotten nothing but static.

Lalli was sleeping under Mikkel's bunk instead of in his own bunk, for reasons that no one understood or wanted to get Tuuri to ask about. While Sigrun guarded Tuuri as she used the latrine, Emil chopped wood both as fuel for the tank and to burn off the stress of the day, and Mikkel went through their haul of books.

When Sigrun and Tuuri returned, Mikkel enquired courteously, “I'm quite curious, Sigrun, did you put any informed thought into which books you chose to bring out to me?”

“Naah. Books are books, they're all worth _something_, right? We just took whatever.”

“Mmm, I was suspecting as much.” He'd heard that Norwegians, unlike Danes, didn't have a tradition of scholarship; this seemed proof, at least in her case. He held up a garishly colored book. “How much do you reckon a book about _golf_ is worth?”

“I dunno? What's 'golf'?”

“It's a game.”

“Like hide and seek?”

“No. It's a game where one repeatedly hits a small ball in order to get it into a hole in a field of grass.” He had heard of the game as part of a family story for his great-grandfather had played it before the coming of the Rash and was said to have complained frequently about losing the sticks used in the game. It was, perhaps, unfair to expect Sigrun to have the same knowledge.

“Yeah, that does sound kinda dumb, I suppose.”

“To be fair, they aren't all bad. This one here, for instance, seems to be rather … interesting.” It was a journal or diary with handwritten pages and numerous photographs stuck between the pages. Faded though the pictures were, they clearly depicted someone suffering the Rash, which made them instantly intriguing to him. “I'll definitely need to take a closer look at this one tomorrow.”

“But that's my job!” Tuuri interjected in alarm.

“Don't fuss, little fuzzy-head! We'll go get you more books!” Sigrun assured her condescendingly.

“Tuuri.” Mikkel hastened to draw her attention as she appeared about to object to Sigrun's tone. “I've put these books aside – they look valuable and they're all in Danish so either of us can read them. These three over here though, I think they're in English. I can't read it myself. Will you take a look at them and see what you think?”

Overjoyed at having a task, Tuuri picked up the thickest of the books and read the title: “The Sil – ma – rill – i – on.”

“I got that much. What does it mean in Danish? Or Swedish, I mean.”

“I … don't have any idea. I've never seen this word before.” She opened the book to a random page in the middle and studied a page thoughtfully. “It's definitely English. Seems to be some kind of adventure. People fighting … There are a lot of names here.”

“We can keep that one for the skalds.”

“I'm a skald!” she flared.

“Of course, and a very good one,” he answered both soothingly and truthfully.

“Huh.” She was not entirely mollified.

“But I know skalds, and if you start to study that, you'll get so engrossed you'll forget to eat. Sleep. Maintain the tank that keeps us alive. That sort of thing.”

“Oh. Yeah.” She looked longingly at the book. “I guess I'll just put it aside for when we get back.” She hugged it to her, then put it away forever.

“Mikkel,” she asked after a moment, “aren't you a skald too?”

“I'm a farmer,” he said flatly.

“But you were a soldier?”

“Years ago.”

“You're a medic, though?” Sigrun put in, turning from the window where she'd been keeping an eye on Emil.

“That too. Sometimes.”

“Well, that's useful. Sometimes.”

After Tuuri and Mikkel finished stowing the books so they would not shift while the tank was moving, Tuuri went off to her bunk and dropped off immediately, and the two older team members waited quietly for Emil to wear himself out and seek his own bunk. Once the three young people were safely abed, Sigrun and Mikkel had one last conversation.

“Now I've seen what my crew is made of so I say we go hit the _really_ juicy spots deep in the city next!” Sigrun said enthusiastically.

“Really?” Mikkel asked, trying to sound neither astonished nor horrified. “You really think those two are ready for that? What I witnessed today came across as very _disorganized_ and _impulsive_ behavior.” He regretted the words at once. If she took them as an unjust criticism, that might damage the fragile rapport they had achieved.

But Sigrun took them in good spirit. “Well, yeah, maybe they're not _totally_ up to speed yet. But nobody _died!_ That's a pretty good sign of potential if you ask me. And from my experience I'd say we've got a pretty nice setup going for us here. You'll see. As long as we don't get hit by too many curve balls, this'll be _great!_

Mikkel mumbled something not too discouraging and turned to his own bunk. She _was_ an experienced grossling hunter and recommended by the General. Perhaps what looked like disorganized and impulsive behavior to _his_ tidy mind was the sort of flexible behavior that you needed when you entered grossling lairs.

He hoped so, anyway.


End file.
